


Finding Red

by PatchworkFelicity



Category: Fables - Willingham, The Wolf Among Us
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-21
Updated: 2016-05-25
Packaged: 2018-06-03 14:15:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6613885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PatchworkFelicity/pseuds/PatchworkFelicity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You are Red Riding Hood, a Fable who has lost her memory and wound up at the door of The Woodlands without a clue as to how or why. You may find answers with the aid of your fellow Fables, but is it better to uncover the truth or try to start anew? Your insatiable curiosity may be the end of you.</p><p>No specific timeline in reference to TWAU or the Fables comic. Just some fun and intrigue with Bigby. ;) Plot also disregards Red's canon comic history and romantic relationships. My first Character x Reader attempt. Enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Awake

When faced with uncertainty, it is in one’s nature to seek out something familiar.

Recognition provides comfort in an otherwise dark and endless unknown.

Perhaps that was why your heart was beating so frantically. It was as though you had just awoken from a night terror, caught somewhere, panicked, between your own subconscious and reality. 

The trouble was that no matter how much your mind reached for something that would make sense of what and where - or even who - you were, it found nothing and retreated, whimpering back. 

You did all you could do, absorbing everything around you with glaring clarity. The sound of the rain on the concrete seemed to resound unusually loud in your ears, its cold, dripping fingers seeping into your clothes and bringing a chill to your bones. How long had you been out here? Long enough that you were drenched, or maybe the rain had come in torrents and soaked you in seconds, gluing strands of hair to your forehead and cheeks. 

Your eyes blinked, squeezed shut and open again, as though the act might give the scenery some context or else wake you from a too-real reverie. When that did not work, you looked at yourself, your shoes, your clothes. Nothing, still nothing came. All that you could think about was the deep red shade of your sneakers, 

That was when you acknowledged the feeling of something grasped in your palm, unfolding your hand to reveal a small metal structure. It was warm, as though it had been clutched in your hand for some time. Anxious curiosity unfurled in your stomach as you played with it, testing its weight against your fingertips. Some further fiddling found a way to bring two sides of it apart.

Inside, there was a blade, and upon the blade, strange, swirling figures.

Suddenly, your confusion over this little mystery collapsed beneath a flicker of fear, an instinct that you probably shouldn’t be brandishing a knife in public.

Lucky for you, there did not appear to be anyone around to feel threatened. The street on which you stood was actually fairly quiet. Even so, you assumed it would be best to put the weapon away. With care, you folded it back up and tucked it into the pocket of your jacket. Why in the world were you carrying a knife around anyway? Did you think you’d need it here, and for what? Was there something to fear beyond the gate in front of you?

Something inside the...Woodland Luxury Apartments?

You stepped forward just enough to read the placard on the brick the flanked the gate. No. Not even this rang a bell. 

You must have been there for a reason, though, your mind rationalized, finally drawing away from the haze of...whatever you had been doing before you got here. Maybe you knew someone inside, or perhaps they knew you.

Maybe this was home.

The possibilities filled you with a strange sense of dread. Too many what-ifs for your liking.

Reason should have told you that the longer you stood there, the more there was a chance that someone was going to notice your creeping. Even so, the sound of a voice to your left still set your nerves alight. 

“Red? Red Riding Hood?” 

You must have looked startled, because the fellow who had just spoken looked equally as much when you turned with a start. 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he apologized, assuming a more lax posture “I didn’t mean to catch you by surprise like that.” 

Your eyes gave the man a once-over. He was tall and lanky with a mop of hair on his head that seemed barely kept under control by the peculiar hat he wore. The orange jumpsuit confused you more than anything else. Didn’t convicts wear those? Was he an escaped criminal? If so, he sure seemed friendlier than you would have expected.

Wait, he’d called you by a name. He had recognized you!

“It’s...It’s fine,” you mustered up a response, the sound of your own voice oddly jarring to hear. “I’m sorry, but...who are you?”

The expression on his face seemed to falter a little with the question and you felt a little bad, though you weren’t entirely sure why. His demeanor rebounded easily, though, as realization appeared to strike.

“Flycatcher! You know? Ah, I guess it’s been a long time since you’ve seen anyone really, much less me.” He scratched at the back of his neck in thought. “Don’t think I’ve heard much about anyone seein’ you around for….years.”

“You knew me?” you asked, sounding a little more desperate than you meant.

“Well, not a whole lot. But I know about you as much as any Fable. Geez, you’re soaked straight through. Don’t you wanna get inside out of the rain?”

You’d actually forgotten the whole ‘cold’ thing.

“Fable,” you echoed the word. Okay, yes. That felt like a turn in the right direction. You could feel something itching in your thoughts, but couldn’t quite pinpoint it. “We’re Fables.”

“Yeah,” he said with a lopsided grin. “But, uh, really. We should go inside. I need to get back to my duties and it seems irresponsible to just leave you standing out here like this. Hey! I get it! You’re here to get an apartment, aren’t you? Thinking of moving to the city?”

He turned away from you and moved to open the gate. You were not certain if you should follow, but your hesitation was short-lived, beaten out by a now insatiable need to know more. You trailed behind him at a cautious distance, a breeze reminding you of the fact you were in a rather sorry, disheveled state. 

Flycatcher continued to talk as you shadowed him up the walk and the steps through the front door, but you couldn’t make any more sense of anything he said. He was rambling, providing plenty of information, but it was too much too fast and he had a habit, you noticed, of changing subjects often, which left you with no time to ask questions. 

You paused just inside the door, catching sight of the security desk and the guard behind it who looked to be sleeping on the job, feet propped up and cap tilted down over his eyes. 

“....real mess of the place, but I’m sure they’ve cleaned it up quite nice after all that. Miss White would never stand for things to be left in such array,” was all you caught of Fly’s last story before, “Speaking of which, you’ll want to talk to her about a place.” He lifted his wrist, taking a glance at his watch. “The business office is just about closed, but if you’re quick you might be able to catch her.”

You had yet to have moved from where you’d planted yourself at the door. It seemed like a safe enough spot, where you could make a mad dash back outside if need-be. Flycatcher...what a weird name, you thought, unsure about wanting to know where he got it...had only just turned and taken notice. There was a hint of concern that played upon his freckled features as he watched you restlessly shuffle there, worrying at your lower lip with your teeth.

Your eyes darted about the room before landing back upon him, at a loss for what to say or do. The warmth of the lobby was starting to sink into you, chasing out the occasional shiver and making your clothes stick to you uncomfortably.

“You know what? Just...sit right here and I’ll go see if I can find her, okay?” His tone had gone soft, not nearly so lively, as though he was addressing a frightened child. An errant thought told you that you ought to be insulted, being treated like that when you were a fully grown woman, but you couldn’t bring yourself to voice complaints. The truth was you did feel like a child, helpless...and it made a knot of frustration well up in your chest, threatening to bring tears. You choked them back.  


You nodded an affirmation, at least, edging towards the sofa he had indicated and sitting on the end nearest to the entryway. Fly waited until he was sure you were settled before heading into the elevator to seek help.

A breath you’d been holding for the past few seconds escaped you, some of the tension going along with it. You hadn’t realized it until now, but your legs were sore, and so were your feet, which tingled in your sopping wet shoes. Had you been walking for miles, for days? How long and from where? 

Too many questions. 

You turned your attention to the magazines scattered on the table between the lobby chairs, trying to distract yourself as much as seek out clues to the reality you were apparently living in. You could read, you noted, as you scanned the covers, though none of the titles or articles piqued your interest enough to pursue further.

You curled into yourself; an attempt to find warmth, and discovered you were actually quite tired. It alarmed you a little, thinking you might fall asleep in this strange place filled with people who might know you (if Fly was any indication) but that you didn’t know. But the longer you sat there, the heavier your limbs and head felt. Your mental protests to stay awake were ultimately futile. 

It could have been only a few seconds or a few minutes, but you definitely succumbed to slumber for a time, because the next thing you knew you were being startled awake again by the sensation of falling. You had barely just caught yourself from topping head-first off the sofa and into the coffee table, straightening up, self-conscious, on the cushions.

It was then that you became keenly aware of eyes on you - that heavy, prickling feeling that made the hairs on the back of your neck and on your arms stand on end. You froze, trying to find answers in your peripherals, afraid to move lest the thing that was staring you down planned to pounce upon you. Your heart picked up its pace again, feeling the presence piercing right down to your core before you ever caught a glimpse of it.

The elevator door made a ding and soft whooshing sound as it closed, but it was not Flycatcher that had come. It was not Miss Snow.

This fear. You remembered this.


	2. Faded

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You meet with Snow White to discuss your predicament, but not before a run-in with someone else who seems to know exactly who you are.

Something flickered in your vision, forcing you to look up. 

He….wasn’t what you expected? What had you expected?

That fear that had just shackled you in place diluted a fraction as more bewilderment swept in. You stared at the figure because he was staring at you, but the longer you did so, the more you wanted to sink back into the sofa and disappear. In the silence that followed, you searched his face for something recognizable. It was rough, like he’d seen better days and could use a few weeks of honest-to-goodness sleep. And if the look on his weathered features were any indication, this man knew you too, only he looked a great deal more severe about it than Flycatcher had.

An errant thought surfaced, suggesting that you ought to have known him, but another argued that you’d never seen him before in your life. And what about that sensation that had washed over you a moment ago? That terror that warned you that you were being watched...hunted. It was gone now, so brief that you wondered if it had only just been another part of a dream as you dozed.

The seconds seemed to crawl by as your eyes remained locked. You considered looking away numerous times, that awkward feeling begging you to do so, but for some reason you were unable to do so.

He was the first to disturb the quiet although he said nothing coherent, only made a rumbling grunt in the back of his throat before looking down at the floor where he’d dropped a cigarette. Rather than stoop to retrieve it, he smothered its embers into the floor with his shoe.

Released from the weight of his gaze, you turned your own towards the magazines on the table again. You considered grabbing one of them so you could pretend you were absorbed in its contents until this new stranger decided to take his leave. Instinct told you that you really did not want to start anything with this person.

“Red.” 

That was the second time someone had called you that. Reluctantly, you looked at the man again, more because the sound of his voice had compelled you more than any sort of response to the name itself. Your face must have looked pretty vacant, because his only became further perplexed...or angry? You weren’t entirely sure. His brow had been knotted since first glance, coupled with a deepening frown that made it hard to read him.

“Red Riding Hood,” he barely elaborated in a gruff, low tone.

“Is that… Should that mean something? I’m sorry, but I don’t…,” you fumbled, twisting your fingers into the damp fabric of your jeans.

Now he was side-eyeing you, squinting. It was a tad disconcerting.

Much to your relief, the elevator opened again, and out stepped Flycatcher and what you could only assume was Miss Snow. She headed towards you at first, that is, until she noticed the fellow with whom you’d been sharing a stare-down with. 

“Bigby, I thought you’d left already,” she said before tossing a look in your direction again. 

“Was just on my way…,” he trailed off, clenching his jaw so tightly a vein in his neck became apparent. You weren’t quite sure what was going on, but it would have been clear to anyone in the room that the atmosphere among you had just shifted. There was a wordless communication going on between Miss White and the man she’d addressed as Bigby, and the way they both kept stealing a glance in your direction made it clear you were a part of it. Once more, you wished you could just vanish into thin air. 

“Right. I need to tend to a little more business, so I’ll see you tomorrow morning,” she finally said, setting the scene in motion again. The tone in her voice was enough to usher Bigby on his way, though he took his time turning on his heel before picking up his stride through the door. She exhaled a small breath before approaching you, a proper smile on her lips. “Sorry to have kept you waiting. It’s always kind of hectic around here and I admit I didn’t immediately believe it when Flycatcher told me that he’d seen you.” She took a graceful seat on the edge of the armchair just to your left, folding her hands at her knees. “I don’t think anyone’s seen or heard from you since… Well, since the invasion. Where have you been all this time?”

“I don’t… I don’t really know,” you replied honestly, reaching up to brush some strands of hair out of your eyes. It was finally beginning to dry and turn into unruly curls against your face. Sitting before Miss White made you feel somewhat self-conscious. Not only was she pretty to look at - and that was understating it - but she had an air of authority and charisma about her, like royalty. “I don’t remember anything except being here.”

White looked to Flycatcher then, her lips parting slightly. He had nothing to offer her and simply shrugged to express as much. 

“You have amnesia?” she asked, regarding you once more.

“It seems so…?” you said, more a question than an answer. She tapped her lips with a fingertip, thoughtful, though the longer she paused, the more you wondered if she was suspicious of you. Finally, she straightened her posture and continued.

“Do you remember any of us?” 

You slowly shook your head, looking between the two of them and starting to feel a twinge of guilt for your ignorance. 

“But… But you seem to know me!” you pointed out. “Flycatcher called me by a name and...and that guy who just left too.”

“Bigby.”

“Yes, I think so.”

“Bigby Wolf.”

“..Yes.” There it was again, that strange association that you were clueless about. White’s emphasis on Bigby’s name only cemented your belief that you should have known him; to what depths would have to be explored at another time. Right now, you were more interested in knowing more about who you were. “Please, if you know who I am, please tell me.”

“To be honest, I can’t know for sure,” White said. “But I do know that you bear a striking resemblance to a woman known as Red Riding Hood.”

“Yes, that’s what they called me.”

“The fact that you aren’t confused by that at the very least tells me you must remember something about being a Fable. If you didn’t, I’d imagine you’d find the ‘fairy tale’ reference more puzzling. What do you know about ‘Red Riding Hood’?”

You searched your shallow memory for something, anything, to say. But much like everything else thus far, the name and what it meant was lost - a big blank space. All you could give was a helpless shrug of your shoulders.

“I’m sorry, but this is the first time I've ever heard that name.”

“You’re not familiar with the Mundy tale, even?” She was starting to look skeptical again. You shook your head ‘no’. “This is some serious memory-loss. It would probably be a good idea to let Dr. Swinehart take a look at you. It’s a bit late for that right now, but we can get you scheduled in first thing in the morning.”

Another name you didn’t recognize, you silently lamented, but it didn’t seem like a bad idea. Maybe a doctor could help piece together what was wrong with you and give you some idea as to how to fix it.

“In the meantime, we’ll provide you a temporary room here for the night. We can get more of this sorted out after you’ve had some rest. Maybe it will help some of the fog clear.”  
You hadn’t been expecting any sort of generosity towards your plight. Despite being certain of your own innocence in the matter, you could understand how odd it all sounded and why that might make anyone wary. You, for example, had no plan to fully trust anyone here, no matter how friendly, because for the time being they were all still very much strangers to you. Even so, you weren’t about to turn down a place to stay and grew hopeful at the prospect of some dry clothes and a place to sleep. 

Miss White, whose name you learned was ‘Snow’ (another name that was familiar and not all at once), guided you up to the second floor and down a hall of apartment doors. She talked now and then - not nearly so much as Fly - and kept the subject light, inquiring after your wellbeing and wanting to know if there was anything you needed. When she came to stop in front of one of the doors, she did not immediately move to unlock it, instead throwing a glance at the door across the hall and looking a little troubled, and possibly apologetic.

“Is everything okay?” you asked.

“Oh, yes. It’s fine. I was just thinking about something that happened earlier,” she said with a reassuring smile, withdrawing a key and opening the apartment to you. 

It was small and modestly furnished. You were thrilled that there was any at all since you would have been grateful simply for the roof over your head. The rain had continued, but with renewed force now, pelting the windows until everything outside appeared to be a smudged, smattering of color.

“It’s not the fanciest place, but at least it’s better than nothing,” she said, as if reading your mind. “I’ll see about getting you some drier clothes. Did you think of anything else?”

“No. This is more than enough. Thank you.”

She smiled again - one of those practiced ones that were more for formality than anything. That was okay, you appreciated the effort anyway. Once she’d gone, leaving the key on the table near the door, you began to meander around the space. Everything inside it looked pretty old and well-used. An antique mirror on the far wall of the living room attracted your attention, giving you your first real good look at yourself.

God, you were a mess. Your hair had dried significantly at this point, so now it stuck up at various angles, having been tousled into a wild mop on your head. You looked absolutely haggard and couldn’t help but feel a little grim about how you’d just been judging Fly for looking so strange and ...Bigby...for looking so worn-down. You put them both to shame, wandering about like this. To be fair, it wasn’t as if you’d had time to plan your bout of amnesia and all.

Fed up with looking at yourself for now, you decided to try and make yourself comfortable, peeling the hooded jacket from your arms and throwing it over the back of a dining chair before plopping down and wresting off your shoes so you could do away with the socks. 

No wonder your feet had hurt so much! The soles were red and practically covered in blisters, both new and cracked. You hadn’t noticed how much they stung given that they’d been wrapped up and numbed out in your sneakers this whole time, but now that they’d been exposed to the air, wrinkled with the moisture, the aches and pains were making themselves known.

You sat there, slumped for a moment and let your head hang back. Absently, you wondered if there was a working shower here, but weren’t sure if you had the energy to go find it, much less stand beneath it. With shelter covered, your body turned to the next most vital thing and alerted you, quite vehemently, that you were hungry. You should have thought of that before, you chided yourself. It was a long shot, but you hoisted yourself up and hobbled the short distance towards the kitchen to inspect the refrigerator and cupboards. As to be expected, with no one occupying the residence, they were all entirely bare. 

Now it was just a matter of deciding if you wanted to seek out food or just try to sleep on it. You really could have gone either way at that point. 

You’d just been starting to debate the pros and cons of either decision when you heard the sound of muffled voices in the hallway. You might have just ignored it, put it down to some of your neighbors passing through, but you soon recognized who it was.

It sounded like Snow and Bigby. She’d been the last voice you’d heard and although he hadn’t said much during your first run in, you suspected that gruff tone was hard to mistake. Making your way as quietly as you could towards the front door, you pressed your ear against it, trying to find some clarity amid the mumbling.

“...until we find out what’s going on,” Snow spoke softly.

“...that apartment…?” Bigby rumbled.

“...keep an eye on ---!”

“...babysitter, besides…”

They’d gone quiet all of a sudden, and the next thing you knew there were knuckles rapping against the door, making you jump back a little in surprise. You hoped they hadn’t heard your startled cry as easily as you’d heard them outside.

“Red..?” came Snow’s call. So they were going with that name. Okay, you could do that. The thought had occurred that you should open the door, but for some reason or another you waited a few seconds before calling back.

“Yes?”

“It’s Snow White. I’ve brought you a change of clothes.”

“Just you?” you prodded. Paranoia had reared its ugly head, settling in the pit of your gut. You wanted to see if she was going to lie about Bigby’s presence, or if she had made him leave. You had nothing against him that you were aware of, but one thing was clear given everyone’s reactions and that was there was something between you. You weren’t exactly comfortable with being ganged-up on and it seemed having a wall to hide behind made you feel a little braver.

Snow did not immediately answer, but then, “It’s me and Mister Wolf. He’s the Sheriff here in Fabletown so it would be good if you were acquainted.”

Taking a deep breath and reasoning that you could really use those close and ask about something to eat, you eventually opened the door just enough to peek out at them. Snow gave you a gentle expression in greeting. Bigby looked just as cross as before, but maybe that was his natural state of being. He was hanging back behind Snow, but was closer than before and you could tell he was taller than you originally supposed - a good head or two.

“Thanks,” you said quietly, reaching out to receive the neatly folded garments from Snow’s arms.

“Not a problem,” she said stepping to the side. “This is the Sheriff. I know you’ve met in passing already, but he actually lives just across the hall so I thought it prudent to formally introduce you in case you ran into each other again.”

Her eyes darted between the two of you as the silence stretched out again, uncomfortably long. 

“Bigby,” she goaded him under her breath. He let out of a huff and extended a hand towards you, which you eyed as though it were a foreign object.

“Red, I guess,” you said, tucking the clothes into one arm so you would reach out with the other. Your palm slipped against Bigby’s and despite how large and rough it seemed, his grip was very lax when he closed his fingers around yours for a quick, singular shake.

“Great. All done here?” he said, directing the remark at Snow before turning to head into his own apartment, shutting the door with enough force you could feel it through the entire building. 

“Sorry about that. He’s not easy to get used to,” Snow said.

“I can still hear you!” Bigby called through the door.

The notion struck you as amusing and the faint beginnings of a smile tugged at your lips.

“Anyway, I’ll let you get settled in and check in with you tomorrow,” she said and you nodded, closing the door once she’d gone. 

“Ah, dammit,” you cursed as you remembered your hunger, growing more biting by the minute. You hurried back to the door and opened it again, hoping to catch Miss White, but she was already gone. A quick glance up and down the hall spied no convenient vending machines - not that you had any money - so you sighed to yourself. “Guess it’s just an empty belly for tonight.”

You closed the door again, locked it, and went about that shower you decided you sorely needed. Thankfully, Snow had had enough foresight to include a towel in the items she’d brought, and despite the echoing aches, you felt a great deal better once you were clean and wrapped in some warm, dry clothes. 

You went about setting out your other clothes so they could dry properly, spying a coat hook by the front door to hang your jacket upon. You placed the key on the ring on a second hook and tucked your shoes beside the entryway. 

If you hadn’t been so close to the door you might not have heard it - the rustling, just outside. You stood still, listening and trying to discern what it was. Mice? Rats, maybe? It was right at the foot of the door, a shadow blocking out some of the light from the hall. Crouching and staring at the sliver beneath the paneled would, you waited and watched. Aside from the soft sound of a door opening and closing, no more sound came, but the shadow was still there.

It would probably have been best to just leave whatever it was be. It was too late to be getting newspapers or anything like that, and besides, no one lived at this address and didn’t they just deposit those in mailboxes for apartments?

Wait. What was that smell?

Curiosity took hold of you again, strong and insistent, leading you to finally crack open the door when the peephole offered nothing but a view of old, floral wallpaper. The rustling noise happened again, drawing your attention to a paper bag on the floor, crinkled and rolled at the top. Stooping down, you caught a whiff of something…

Hamburgers.

You remembered hamburgers.

Your mouth was already starting to water as you snapped up the bag and opened it to verify that you weren’t hallucinating. There, in all its savory glory, was a juicy cheeseburger and fries. 

You didn’t even ask where it had come from. Hunger had likely made you much less cautious, but if someone was really going to try to poison you with fast food, so be it. With your senses already tickled by the prospect of food, you felt like you were starving. 

As you devoured your miniature feast with fervor, you told yourself you would really have to thank whomever it was that had been so kind. Never mind that you hadn’t mentioned being hungry to anyone. 

It was best not to question miracles.


	3. Who's Afraid...?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You're rested and safe (for now), but you can't stay in the apartment forever. Bigby needs to have a word with you...

_It all began when you stepped off the path._

_You knew these woods like the back of your hand; had traipsed through them within every season. The trees that soared above you into a thick canopy right down to the soft crunch of stones and twigs beneath your feet were comforting in their familiarity. It was like a second home._

_Perhaps that was why you didn’t jump at every shadow that crawled, stretching its tendrils along the road. Maybe that was why you did not so much as flinch in the presence of the wolf, much less give his appearance more than a passing thought. It was not as though he was terribly out of place in the forest, after all. Probably as common as a bird or squirrel, for all your naive mind could comprehend._

_He seemed perplexed at your blatant disregard for the way fear worked, at least as much as a wolf could be._

_“Are you not afraid?” he spoke, voice resonating down in the depths of his massive chest in a manner that made his words sound something like a growl._

_“Why should I be afraid?” you asked, genuinely curious._

_“These woods wide are winding. You may become lost. And what if some dreadful creature were to discover you and make you their supper?”_

_“Oh, I would never lose my way,” you assured him with a tinge of amusement. “I know these woods better than anyone. And what creature would want to eat me? I don’t believe I would be very tasty.”_

_“Better than anyone, you say.” Was it possible for a wolf to chuckle, you wondered as you heard something akin to a laugh rumble through him, like distant thunder. The endless golden eyes settled upon you intently and you glimpsed his teeth in the large, dark maw. “For some creatures, you would be a tasty tidbit indeed.”_

_A tiny shiver skipped its way up your spine and you drew the edges of your cloak tighter about your shoulders, laying blame with the wind._

* * * *

The rain had finally retreated, leaving only on occasional sprinkle to renew the drops on the window as the sunlight poured into the bedroom. There had been curtains, but you had not bothered to close them, your primary concern getting into the bed before you collapsed where you stood.

As you peeled your eyes open, you reached for the covers to curl up into; they had ended up in a twisted mess in the middle of the night. It was too early to judge whether or not you had had a good night’s sleep. You weren’t sure what was ‘good’ for you and what was ‘bad’. All you knew was you didn’t feel like moving much.

You buried your face against a pillow that had probably gone flat years ago, but you managed to beat some of the fluff up out of it. Laying there, you did not fall back asleep as you had wished and planned. Rather, you stared vacantly at the wall across from where you lay, reflecting.

The world had not miraculously fallen back into place with your waking. Yesterday had not just been some fleeting nightmare, chased away with the morning. There was no more of a clue to your mystery than there had been some hours ago. You clung tightly to the name that you’d been given, still not knowing for certain if it was really yours to claim. It was too strange to think of yourself as ‘nobody’. It made it sound as though you did not exist at all.

When sleep continued to elude you, you gave in and coaxed yourself to rise, even as your body protested every movement. Every muscle in your body felt tight and sore, as if you had been doing something strenuous the day before. Maybe you really had been walking for miles until you reached The Woodlands.

Although you had just showered the night before, you decided to spoil yourself with another one that morning to help wake you up and ease some of the tension. The water only went ice cold a couple of times before running searing hot. It was probably for the best as it kept you from lingering there for too long.

You opted to put the clothes you slept in back on rather than return to those you’d been found in. Not only were they stale and grungy feeling when you inspected them, the idea of putting them back on felt like a step backward. It might help if you could launder them somehow, or buy something new...if you had any money.

Unfortunately, aside from the knife in your pocket, you’d had absolutely nothing else of value on your person. It might have solved most of your problems if you’d only possessed a wallet, which might have contained some money and and ID of some sort. But no, that would have been too easy.

You only had the one pair of shoes, so they would have to be the exception. At least you had fresh socks now, so they wouldn’t feel as bad. There had been a first-aid kit in the bathroom cabinet, which you had used to treat and bandage up the blisters on your feet to the best of your ability. No doubt your soles were quite a sight decorated with bandaids. The stinging made you reluctant to put anything more on them.

There had also been an angry looking gash on your upper arm which you hadn’t noticed until you’d stripped down for your first shower. It was already in the process of healing over, scabbed and dark, with mottled bruises around the edges. Thankfully, the shirt you had covered up that much, not that you had anything to hide, but something about seeing it made you feel uneasy.

Before too long the pang of hunger sent you out of the presumed safety of the apartment, though where you planned to find food without a penny to your name was yet to be discovered. Whomever had been kind enough to deliver supper to your door had not been so generous as to include breakfast - not that you had assumed they would - but anything that might have spared you venturing out for another hour or two would have been welcomed.

As you padded down the hall on bare feet after stealing a quick glance out the door to make sure no one was nearby, you found the door to the stairs to avoid the elevator altogether. It probably was ridiculous logic, forgoing shoes to avoid the friction only to put pressure upon your battered skin by refusing to use the elevator, but you didn’t want to unexpectedly run into anyone. Not yet anyway. Just having to walk past the Sheriff’s door had made you antsy, as though he could sense you and would burst out at any moment.

It had been a good call, you noticed as you nudged open the door to the lobby just enough to see a handful of people piling into the elevator across the way. You waited until they had been whisked away before edging out into the room, while there was no one but you and the security guard.

Who was still sleeping, by the way. You couldn’t help but wonder how he managed to keep his job if that was all he did. Your assumptions were jarred, however, as you attempted to slip outside unnoticed. Even though he was still reclined and looking quite comfortable, he had apparently still noticed you were there.

“Morning Miss Red,” he spoke, and for a split second you weren’t sure if you’d just imagined it or not.

“Ah, yes. Good morning, um..,” you offered.

“Grimble. Don’t wander too far. Miss White will need to speak with you shortly. She wanted me to make sure you knew that.”

Why did that sound more like a warning than a casual note? Although you weren’t sure if he could see it, you nodded and then promptly dashed outdoors.

The cool pavement was actually quite soothing as you stepped out upon it and skipped down the first couple steps onto the walkway. Everything was still dewey and wet with the rain and the air was clear and fresh. You took in a deep breath and exhaled again....

“All rested, I take it.”

You whirled, nearly making yourself dizzy as you spotted him there, sitting on the bench just to your left. Your mouth gaped open as you tried, bewildered, to figure out how and when he’d gotten there. You hadn’t seen him come and were fairly certain he hadn’t been there when you’d stepped out. However it had happened, there Bigby was, hunched over with elbows on his knees with a cigarette pressed between his lips. He hadn’t bothered to look at you when he spoke.

“Well enough, all things considered,” you said, brows pinching together as you tried to figure out whether or not to ask him where he’d just teleported in from. Probably best not. He gave you the vibe that said that he was going to be the only one asking questions here.

“Good. Cause you and I have some business.”

He reached into his trench coat, retrieving a lighter, which he flicked open and proceeded to use to light the cigarette. A small cloud of smoke billowed out from between his lips, though you did not hear him exhale.

“What do you mean?” you asked, suddenly defensive and wary. “Grimble said that Miss White was going to speak with me soon and-” Already, you were rambling. Had you always rambled when you were nervous?

“Oh, Snow’s business and mine aren’t the same thing. She’ll take you to Swineheart. Get you checked out. Try to give you the benefit of her doubts and get to the bottom of all this. I plan to do that too, but with less benefits and formality. Was never big on the paperwork.”

A knot that you had not been aware had been winding settled heavily in your empty stomach.

“Listen, Mr Wolf… I know that none of what’s going on makes sense and my just showing up here is strange, especially when I look like this person everyone seems to know. Some person that _you_ seem to know. But whomever she was - _I_ was - I don’t know about any of it,” you rattled on, startling to fiddle with your fingers with your eyes cast down towards the grass.

There was a flapping sound, his coat whipping up around him as he rose, and he moved over to place himself in front of you. You had to lift your chin to properly look into his face. All that tension you’d washed away that morning was back again full force the moment Bigby’s eyes were on you, gaze startlingly penetrating beneath the heavy lines of his brow.

“You think I’ve got a problem with you,” he said. You weren’t sure if he was looking for an affirmation or denial, neither of which you were sure you could give right then as you rooted to the spot. “Truth is I’ve got a problem with anyone who’s been missing for centuries only to turn up out of the blue in Fabletown with a convenient case of memory-loss. Don’t get confused - Snow will make nice and go through the motions to treat you as if you’re one of our own, but she’s not stupid, and neither am I. There was a reason I was appointed as Sheriff and it sure as shit isn’t because of my bright and shining personality.”

He paused again. You debated saying something even though everything inside you screamed for you to keep your mouth shut. But when he continued to leer over you, you couldn’t help yourself.

“Okay…,” you began, taking a calming breath and raking your fingers back through your hair. “I get it. Okay? I get what you’re saying and I don’t blame you at all for being suspicious of me. _I_ would be suspicious of myself in your position. The honest to goodness truth is that you probably have more of a shot of figuring this out than I do, and to that I say more power to you. The more you find out, the better off I am, because right now I’ve got nothing, Mr. Wolf. And if interrogating me is going to be what you think it takes to hear what you need to hear, then do it. I have nothing to hide and if I did, it'll be news to me.”

Bigby didn’t move, nor take his eyes off you, but his expression had changed, if only a fraction. He appeared to be letting what you’d said gestate a little - at least you hoped that’s what that look meant. Truthfully, you were surprised any of it had come out as coherent or rational as it had, because all that had been going on the back of your mind was a chanted, silent plea that nothing bad was going to happen.

“Where are your shoes?”

“What?” You blinked, thrown off.

“You’re barefoot.”

You looked down, curling your toes into the pavement a little as the realization caused some heat to rise to your cheeks.

“Oh, uh, yeah. I didn’t want to put my shoes on just yet, so… They’re kind of uncomfortable.”

To slather another layer of embarrassment and anxiety on top of what was already brewing, your stomach announced its disappointment with your inability to scavenge proper sustenance.

“Oh, geez. Sorry. I haven’t eaten since last night…”

“I know,” he said, reaching up and pulling the cigarette from his mouth to drop it down beside his shoe and snuff it out. “Get back inside. It’s going to start raining and Snow didn’t get you dry clothes just so you could get soaked again.”

“But the sky looks so clear. How -”

“Don’t leave the premises,” Bigby cut you off as he turned, not pulling his attention away from you just yet. “Until we know more, I need you to stay in one place. If you run and I’m forced to come find you, it’s not going to be pleasant for anybody.”

“I wasn’t going to leave,” you said, a little indignant. His eyes darted to your feet and back up to you again.

“Sure. Just out for a stroll.”

“Yeah, maybe I was,” you said, crossing your arms over your chest and tilting your head up.

“Just get back inside.”

“Am I under house arrest or something?”

“Something, yeah.”

He turned, heading down the walkway towards the gate to destinations unknown, leaving you feeling precariously off-balance.

“Thanks for being so _specific_ on the details, Sheriff.”

“Just returning the favor, Red.”


	4. Curious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A visit with Doctor Swineheart and lunch with a prince. 
> 
> (I swear this story is about Bigby! But I love me some Flycatcher. :3)

That afternoon, you learned that doctors made you nervous.

Or maybe it was just this doctor in particular since you had no others to compare him to.

Dr. Swineheart seemed like a perfectly knowledgeable man and Snow had even vouched for his medical skills. This was all fine and well, but his bedside manner left something to be desired. He took to examining you with an almost cold efficiency and when he hummed and hawed through the details of each test, it never felt as though he was talking to you. Through you, more like, or else muttering to himself.

It didn’t surprise you when he took special notice of the wounds you’d already discovered, though he grew worryingly silent as he inspected the angry mark on your arm. You suddenly wished he’d go back to the disinterested mumbling.

“That looks like it was pretty deep,” Snow’s voice broke through the stillness. “Any idea of where it came from?”

Your lips parted as you initially assumed she was directing the question at you, but before you could say anything, Dr. Swineheart made another vague, thoughtful noise. Of course, you realized; you’d already made it clear your memory was a dead end.

“It looks like the result of something more violent than it really is,” the doctor said. “There is a great deal of inflammation and residual bruising around the cut, likely from going untreated. I can provide some medication to assist in reducing the swelling, but I wouldn’t rule out scarring until I can see the extent to which the tissue has been damaged. Until then, I’d keep it sterilized and bandaged. As for her feet - the best thing to do is stay off of them, but you weren’t going anywhere anytime soon, were you?”

Thrown off by being granted his attention all of a sudden, you shook your head a little too vigorous, stirring up the beginnings of a headache. Swineheart retrieved some items to cleanse and wrap your arm, focusing on the task with care until he was prompted to speak again.

“What about the memory loss?” Snow asked. It was as though she had taken up the role of guardian in this situation, leaving you in that awkward position again. You appreciated the help when dealing with the unknowns, but deep down you hated feeling so clueless and helpless. For the time being you decided it was best to just keep your qualms to yourself and instead looked to Swineheart expectantly.

Unfortunately, it seemed you were running on a trend of disappointment. The doctor shook his head and set about gathering up his tools into his medical bag.

“There’s so signs of cranial trauma or anything else that might physically induce such a condition. At this point, I would consider researching enchantments or other magic involvement.”

“Yes,” Snow said, sighing and unfolding her arms to place her hands on her hips. “One more thing to do on my trip to the 13th floor. Thank you for stopping by, Dr. Swineheart.”

“Of course. I admit when you called I expected it had to do with the Sheriff. Given his habits, I suspected we were coming up due for another visit. Dare I dream that he’s actually been following my advice?”

“Not intentionally, I’m sure. But let’s not jinx it, hm?” she said, a hint of subdued humor tickling her tone.

“Indeed. I’ll drop off the anti-inflammatory and ointment with you later today, Miss White. Good day.” You both bid the doctor adieu, but you kept your spot upon the table, waiting to see what the next step would be. Apparently, it had something to do with magic? Snow had mentioned something about going to the 13th floor. Why was that floor so special? What was up there?

Snow had lifted a hand to her head, fingers kneading at her temple as though she had her own headache brewing. When she looked at you again, she offered a reassuring, if uncertain, smile.

“Sorry that didn’t really get us anywhere on restoring your memory, but at least we can get you healed up now. I can’t imagine how painful it all must have been.”

You shrugged a little, lifting your arm to look at the newly secured bandage.

“I don’t know. I can’t remember how I got them, though I guess that’s not a bad thing to forget, considering.”

“That’s one silver lining, I suppose,” she agreed. “As I mentioned, I’ll have some other experts I can consult with, but that won’t be until later this evening. If they have anything to offer, I’ll be sure to let you know.”

“You don’t need me to come with you?” you asked, touching your toes together as you tucked your hands into your lap.

“It’s not necessary. If there’s truly any enchantment or spell on you, then they should be able to sense it a mile away.”

“Who’s ‘they’?”

Her smile became a little strained.

“The witches, of course.”

****

Witches, magic, Fables, mystery wounds…

Your life, in the few short hours that you’d consciously been living it, certainly seemed peculiar, and it would only become more so with every new moment.

Of all the things that might have happened that afternoon, and the all the things you could have imagined, you never could have expected it would have been this.

Miss White had departed to take care of her usual daily business shortly after your visit with the doctor. It seemed she was very popular and in-demand, not only with the residents of The Woodlands, but also the Fables who lived throughout the city. You understood that she could not drop all of her responsibilities to watch over you, and if you were honest you were glad to be given some time to yourself again. The Sheriff’s talk with you that morning had put you under the impression that you were going to be surveyed at every turn to make sure you didn’t cause any trouble, but it seemed that you were going to be allowed some freedom.

As long as you didn’t leave the premises, of course. Bigby had made that point quite clear.

You had wondered what you were meant to do, though, with little to your name and nary an idea as to how to spend your time. It turned out that an empty stomach had been just what the doctor had ordered, literally, so you had yet to have eaten anything of real substance.

Of all people, it was Flycatcher, who was the janitor you’d been told, who came to your rescue on that front. You’d crossed paths again as you were descending the stairs headed back to your apartment. He was sitting in the stairwell eating his lunch and had jumped up upon seeing you.

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t know anyone would be here,” you apologized, pausing one step away from the shared landing. “Don’t let me interrupt your lunch.”

“No, it’s okay! Really!” Fly insisted, waving his hands to allay your concern, losing a couple small bits of lettuce from his sandwich in the process. “Most people don’t usually use the stairs so I usually just eat here so I’ll be out of the way.”

Your eyes must have lingered a little too long on his meal, because he looked at it too, and then held it out for a second or two before withdrawing it again.

“Ah, no. Not this one. It’s kind of an acquired taste, but are you hungry? I have a fried egg sandwich in here too in case I got extra peckish today.” He bent down to start rummaging through the little bag at his feet. You wanted to deny it, to insist that it would be wrong to take his food and, oh-no-you-couldn’t-possibly… But the truth was that you were hungry again - it was a frustrating, if necessary ailment you were becoming too-well acquainted with - and you had no idea when you’d be able to find food again.

“I… I really..,” you attempted to be polite, but it was probably clear how paper-thin your resolve was, because the second he pulled out the second sandwich you could feel your desperation welling up.

Lucky for you, Fly seemed to understand. He smiled and took a step forward to urge you to accept it.

“Go on. It’s okay. I can get more if I need and I bet you haven’t eaten much today, especially if you saw Dr. Swineheart.”

Despite your best effort, your hands shot out and grasped the sandwich. Somehow you managed to utter a proper ‘thank-you’ before taking a hefty bite. It was ridiculously good. Flycatcher seemed to enjoy your enthusiasm, his smile spreading into a charming little grin.

“You knew I was seeing the doctor?” you asked once you’d swallowed the morsel.

“Yeah,” he said. “I see a lot working here. Lots of people coming and going. I figured he was here for you, since you weren’t looking so good before. You look a lot better today.”

You were pretty certain you didn’t look that great, but you appreciated his sentiment, and even felt a little flattered by it.

“Do you mind if I eat here too?” you asked.

“Oh, sure! Take a seat, my lady. But, oh, one sec.” Crouching once more, he dusted off the step with his hand and then pulled out a little handkerchief from his bag to lay out neatly so you could sit down.

Okay, you had to admit, he was making a better impression with each passing minute. It was cute, You sat down, thanking him once again as you proceeded to savor the sandwich he’d given you. Flycatcher sat on the step just above yours, which you could only assume was another attempt to be exceedingly accommodating and allow you your space.

He was an easy person to talk to, you learned, as you continued to chat about this and that. You didn’t have much to offer in the way of conversation, but Fly had plenty of interesting stories and tidbits to share. He gave you a rundown of most of your neighbors, though you weren’t sure if you’d remember them all. They sounded like a very eclectic lot, and though you could tell he was trying to paint them as nicely as possible, there was definitely no lack of drama among them.

“What about the 13th floor? The Witches,” you asked as he began to clean up his belongings so he could return to his duties.

“Honestly, I don’t go up there much. They prefer it that way. They don’t like people touching their things and there’s a lot of stuff up there. Hard to tell what’s a mess and what’s not.”

“Snow seems to think they can tell us if there’s a spell on me.”

“No doubt. That’s what they’re good at!” he said as he rose to his feet and dusted off his hands. You moved to do the same.

“Do you think that could really be the cause of my memory loss? Magic?” you asked, surprised at the skepticism in your own tone.

“It’s certainly been used for stranger things.”

Strange, indeed, if that was the case. The prospect filled your mind with more questions of ‘why’ than ever before. If someone could use something like magic, why would they waste it on you? Why would they waste it in wiping your memory? Was there something they didn’t want you to know? And if so, why get rid of everything? Was something as simple as knowing who you were that detrimental to someone else?

The ‘why’s would not stop there, though. They persisted long after you and Flycatcher had parted company. They echoed through your thoughts when you returned to the apartment and busied yourself by hand-washing the clothes you’d arrived in. They plagued you in the silence that soon followed.

Those ‘why’s would come for a completely different reason, however, weaving in tangles with that sensation of oddness as you found yourself being escorted outside of The Woodlands. Escorted by none other than Fabletown’s own Sheriff.

Like before, he’d just arrived completely unannounced, startling you out of the depths of your thoughts with a loud knock at your door. At first he’d said nothing - just stood there as thought you’d summoned him and he was waiting for an explanation. Just as you were about to speak, he interrupted.

“Put on your shoes. You’re coming with me.”

Suffice to say, you were more than a little blindsided, and only when he turned as though to leave with or without you did you scramble to grab your sneakers. You had almost forgotten to grab your keys before locking the door, hopping painfully between feet as you tried to shove them into your shoes without untying them. Bigby wasn’t prepared to dawdle, it seemed. You finally managed to nudge them both on once you were in the elevator with him, a little breathless.  
  
“What...What’s going on? Where are we going?” you asked. You hadn’t even taken a second to think what it could mean to have the Sheriff at your door, demanding you come with him. He hadn’t cuffed you or anything, but you supposed you didn’t exactly come off as a threat. Bigby could probably subdue you in a heartbeat - a thought which made yours skip one or two anxiously. Only when you emerged in the lobby and he headed for the front entrance did your confusion escalate to a whole new level. “You said I couldn’t leave. Are we leaving? Where are going?”

“Out,” he grunted. It sounded like all your questions were grating on him. But could he blame you? You had just found some comfort in The Woodlands, however miniscule, and now you were going to heaven’s knew where!

“Mr. Wolf, I’m sorry, but could you give me more of an answer than--”

He was out on the walk, ensured you had followed and waited until the doors were closed before he spoke again.

“I’m taking you to get some necessities. Just making sure you don’t get up to trouble.”

You tilted your head as the thought slowly permeated.

“We’re going shopping?”

Bigby just growled to himself and turned to start walking again. He didn’t have to order you to follow.


	5. Best Left Unsaid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bigby takes you shopping and you wonder at just how perceptive he really is.

Of all the things that might have been going through your head as you followed the Sheriff through the Woodland’s gates, the one thing your mind rested upon was wondering what sort of car Bigby might drive.

It was only natural to assume he had a vehicle of some sort, right? As the acting hand of the law, he would need to get to and from places quickly. His choice of car could give a hint to the kind of person he was, but the more you considered it, the more trouble you had picturing one that actually suited him. Well, what you knew of him anyway. It was only when your bandaged feet began to sting in your shoes that you came to the realization; Mr. Wolf was not driving you anywhere.

You walked the blocks in silence, straggling a few steps back. You honestly weren’t certain of the appropriate distance to keep yourself at, rationalizing that some space was probably better than too little. It was not as though you were colleagues - you were barely acquaintances by your knowledge - and you still felt a bit twitchy about everything in general. Mr. Wolf was no exception.

He did not seem to mind the fact you were lagging behind him. As you watched his back, noticing the way his just over-long hair started to duck-tail at the ends near his collar, you suspected he really was not all that concerned with the fact you were out of his immediate view. You could turn and flee at any moment. For a split, frantic second, you were tempted. Maybe he didn’t care one way or the other, but his prior warning was not to be taken lightly.

Was he so confident that you would be intimidated enough by him that you wouldn’t dare test his resolve? As you checked with yourself, you supposed that assumption would be right, but you didn’t like admitting it. There was just something formidable about Bigby Wolf that demanded you take him and his threats quite seriously. Maybe it was the way his face seemed permanently set into a disgruntled frown the few times you’d seen it. Maybe it was the fact his voice rumbled from somewhere deep, rough and low, in a place where you couldn’t differentiate anger from natural gruffness.

“In here.”

Pulled from wading through your thoughts by that voice, you found yourself face to face with Bigby again. He was standing before you, holding open the door to a small shop on the walk.

You did not enter right away, only glanced between the door and Bigby - well, his nose anyway. You could not bring yourself to maintain eye contact for very long.

Awkwardness began to permeate your hesitation, but all it took was for the Sheriff to clear his throat, one thick eyebrow cocked in your peripherals, to send you scurrying inside. The clothing store was small and intimate. It was also empty at the moment which you found yourself grateful for. You were still feeling squeamish about the idea of being around too many people and the humble layout of the shop kept you relatively comfortable. The clothes on the racks looks second-hand, which was also a relief; it meant you wouldn’t be buying anything terribly expensive.

Come to think of it, how _were_ you supposed to be buying anything? You still had no money and Bigby hadn’t exactly specified how you were meant to acquire your ‘necessities’. You’d meandered into the middle of a cluster of clothing racks, but had little to no idea where or how, or even if you ought to begin really looking at anything. No point admiring things you couldn’t have, after all. 

The Sheriff had strode in behind you and made his way directly to the counter at the far end to speak with the person manning the register. They seemed to know each other, but this person was not familiar to you - not that you had expected otherwise. For a brief moment you wondered if anything would ever click for you.

If you could just find one thing - one important detail - it might set your recovery in motion. 

If you _wanted_ to recover, that is. As an amnesiac, that should have been your biggest desire, right? You lifted your hand to your arm, where the wound had been bandaged, and the bottoms of your feet began to string again, as if simply acknowledging them triggered the pain. Did you really want to know what had caused these? Did you really want to know why your sole possessions were the clothes on your back and a knife in your pocket?

A shiver crept up your spine, shuddering through your shoulders.

“Red.” 

You jumped, having been caught up yet again in your own little world. Or maybe that was just Bigby’s effect on people. He didn’t seemed bothered by your reaction.

“Grab what you need - only what you need - and be reasonably quick about it. We still have another stop to make after this.”

“Ah, uh, what about -?”

“Don’t worry about the bill. Snow’s got it covered.” Before you could respond - not that you had anything but more bewildered stuttering to offer - he pivoted and stalked to another end of the store, seemingly to leave you to your task.

Unsure of where to begin, you turned to the rack to your left and started to file through the hangers. At first, you were just trying to look busy, not particularly taking in any of the items in front of you. You found yourself drifting again, absorbing everything around you; the sound of the hangers sliding over the bar, a faint scent of detergent coming off the garments, the feel of the fibers beneath your fingertips. A muted tune floating down from the overhead speakers tickled your ears and you recognized the style enough to know it was something bluesy.

When you’d circled the first rack and noticed the patterns and colors repeating, you moved to another filled with women’s blouses. What would be considered necessary, you wondered. A couple shirts, some pants and socks. Underwear…

You felt heat starting to crawling into your face. Were you supposed to go with the Sheriff and buy bras and panties, too? You couldn’t exactly go without them. Panties, maybe, but you were endowed enough that going braless could look indecent unless you planned on burying your curves beneath layers and layers of baggy clothing. Suddenly, you wished that Snow herself had chosen to escort you out rather than Bigby. It was a pointless hope and childish yearning for comfort - Snow seemed like a very busy woman with no time in her schedule to babysit. Truthfully, you were surprised that Bigby had been assigned to something so trivial as taking you out shopping when he probably had more important things to do too.

Pursing your lips, you decided to be safe and plucked up a couple of larger t-shirts and slung them over your arm. Finding a stack of jeans on a table display, you grabbed a pair and held them up to your hips, guessing at your size. You hadn’t exactly thought to check the numbers on the tags in your clothes.

“Try them on.”

“Geezus!” you exclaimed, dropping the pants in your grasp and very nearly losing the shirts. Ducking down, you picked them back up and turned to look at Bigby. For such a big guy, he sure was stealthy when he moved. Hadn’t he wandered off or had he been circling the clothing racks like a shark the whole while? “No, that’s fine. I don’t want to waste more of your time.”

“I don’t want to buy things you can’t use,” he said. “Having to come back will be more of a waste of my time.”

“Oh, okay. I guess that makes sense,” you said, nudging some hair out of your face. It was a nervous twitch you seemed to be developing. You looked left, right, and span around once in search of some sort of fitting room. Bigby sighed out through his nose, pointing over your shoulder towards a set of stalls with privacy curtains. You murmured your thanks and hurried off.

Once inside with the curtain pulled shut, you exhaled a breath and went about trying on the clothes you’d brought with you, which wasn’t much. You reached down and tugged up the hem of your shirt, dragging it over your head. Flanked by a three-way mirror, you couldn’t help but pause, taking in the sight of yourself. It was less out of a compulsion of vanity than it was curiosity. Doctor Swineheart had examined you fairly thoroughly without delving into the more uncomfortable things, but this was the first time you were taking a good look at yourself.

You actually appeared rather fit, though not lean enough that you saw every muscle defined. You’re not sure what you’d been expecting - scars, tattoos, some sort of mark that was uniquely yours. Unfortunately (fortunately?), your skin was unmarred, aside from the aforementioned wounds and typical blemishes one might find on anybody. One thing you did notice with some disappointment was that your bra was, indeed, a little worse for wear. It looked to be on its last limb, as far as garments went, and there was no telling how much longer the straps were going to hold together. As much as you’d considered putting it off, doing so was likely not the best option.

If only Snow had included one with the rest of the clothes she’d provided you with. At least there had been panties, even if they were a tiny bit baggy around your rear...

Wiggling out of your jeans so you could try on the newer ones, you checked the size of your underwear so you could make a note to buy smaller. The bra seemed to fit okay despite its wear, but you had to take it off to check the tags to know what size it was. You dawdled, fiddling with your fingers as you tried to decide whether you felt comfortable stripping bare in the store. Yes, you were in a fitting room, concealed, but it just felt _weird._

There was nothing to be done for it, and finally you pushed past your qualms and reached back to unhook the clasp, sliding the bra down your arms to check its dimensions.

That’s when you noticed the shoes just outside the curtain. _Men’s_ shoes. You backed up, frantic, against the far wall and clutched your arms and the bra to your chest.

“You about done?” Bigby asked and your voice got stuck in your thought, mouth gone dry. How long had he been waiting out there? What was he doing, creeping about? Could he see anything through the curtain? It just looked like a big stretch of cotton. In the right light he might ---!

“No!” you cried out, voice squelching with a tinge of irritation. “For the love of all that is good, could you just give me some breathing space?!”

Where had that come from? What did it matter? It was like he was watching your every move, stalking you like some...something that stalks! It was starting to put your anxiety through the roof.

“I’ll be out in a minute! Just give me a chance to actually put on the clothes!” you griped as you shuffled to pull the new pair of jeans on. “You were the one who sent me in here anyway. It’s not fair to rush me now.”

The last part had come out more under your breath than actually directed at him. Even so, you heard his shoes shuffle against the floor, followed by a rough:

“Sorry.”

No, you told yourself. Don’t you dare feel bad for voicing your complaints. Just because you were some strange anomaly in Fabletown right now didn’t mean that you were going to let people just tell you what to do. Yeah, that’s good. Take control. You were your own person, _whoever_ you were.

All that positive self-talk did nothing to prevent you from throwing Mr. Wolf an apologetic expression when you finally emerged from the fitting room, though you tried to mask it with one of indignance. No telling how well that actually worked since he was just as easy to read as ever.

“These will be fine,” you said as he silently regarded you, guessing he was waiting on some sort of affirmative that you were satisfied. He responded only by pushing away from the wall upon which he’d been leaning, heading for the register and only assuming you were going to follow. He was right.

As he took care of the purchases, exchanging more words in one go with the shopkeep than you’d heard him talk to anyone thus far, you took to studying the random items in the nearby display case. There was jewelry, watches, and an assorted selection of cutlery. To the left of that, there was a variety of knives, from swiss-army types to those the size of daggers. Before too long your eyes settled upon one in particular. It looked almost exactly like the knife you’d found in your pocket.

Your eyes darted down to your shoes and back to the knife again. For some reason, you felt guilty or like you were doing something wrong for simply acknowledging it. You felt compelled to act as though you weren’t focusing on that one specifically, but you looked long enough to catch a glimpse of the tag below it.

_Butterfly Knife._

“Pretty impressive, isn’t it?” asked the man behind the counter and you looked up to see all attention had come to you. Panic raced up into your chest.

“Oh, um. Yeah, it’s nice,” you said, shrugging a little, trying to act casual.

It didn’t have the same markings as yours, though. It was entirely bare. Just a knife. Part of you wanted to ask about that, but you decided against it. Maybe you could come back later, but you sure weren’t bringing it up while Bigby was there.

Not that you had anything to hide. Hell, he or Snow might even know something about the markings or their significance, but you weren’t sure about bringing it up with them. At least, not yet.

 

“Would you like to see it up close?”

Yes.

“No, that’s okay. I don’t really...like knives,” you said, trying to veer away from the subject as fast as possible. “They make me nervous.”

Despite your best attempt, you couldn’t help stealing a glance up at Bigby’s face. He was watching you again, a little too intently for your liking. You were grateful when the shopkeep stole his attention again to hand him the bag with your clothes inside which he then turned over to you. The next thing you knew, you were striding to catch up with him as he left the shop and headed back out onto the sidewalk.

Once more you were met with the dilemma about whether to say anything as you were stuck walking behind him. You opened the bag to distract yourself by looking at the clothes you’d just purchased.

Oh, god…

You snapped the bag shut and then open again. You repeated this a couple more times.

“Is there a problem?” Bigby asked, though he did not bother to stop, nor turn around. He sounded a little irritated with all the noise.

“Um.. Ah, yes? There’s… There’s _things_ I didn’t _choose_ in here.” That was a roundabout way of putting it. The fact was there was a selection of underwear in there along with your shirts and pants. And those bras you’d been so conflicted about buying. They didn’t look like they’d come from the thrift store, though. You were stuck somewhere between feeling relief and mortification.

“They’re things you needed, right?”

“Well, yes.”

“Then don’t worry about it.”

Okay.

_Okay._

So what if the Sheriff of Fabletown had just gone out and bought you some _intimates_ when you weren’t looking? He probably knew it’d be awkward for you to shop for them together. Apparently Bigby Wolf, unlike what you’d assume of most men, had no problem strolling into a lingerie section and just grabbing whatever. He hadn’t struck you as the type who’d do that, though he also didn’t strike you as the type to give much of a crap about what anyone though, either. More than likely, he had just sauntered in, grabbed the first things he saw and called it good.

It was a nice enough gesture - considerate, even, if a little embarrassing. You had to give him that. You could always exchange them later…

Except...hold on…

As you checked the tag on one of the bras in the bag, you saw it was exactly the same size as the one you had on. You know, the one you, yourself had had to check for because you'd had no idea otherwise?

How had he… HOW HAD HE KNOWN THAT?

You sure as hell weren’t going to ask, and you highly doubted Bigby was going to tell.

He was a man of few words, after all. That was probably for the best.


End file.
